


Dead people tea.

by FruitBird (Fruitbird15)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Caduceus sees these thing differently, Gen, Grieving, Tea from dead people, ask to tag, sad fic, well more bittersweet really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23458426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruitbird15/pseuds/FruitBird
Summary: "You're drinking dead people tea?""Aren't we all?"The Nein made good tea, in the end.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	Dead people tea.

In the end, they all came back. Time passes so differently for him and his kind, his youth a long, endless summer even as winter came for the others.

In the end, he does his duty, with love and care and compassion, as befit a grave cleric.

And in the end, there are flowers.

And tea.

Fjord was something invigorating, an exotic blend that never seemed to be the same. Redolent of spices and fruits of the menagerie coast, it brought to mind tall sailing ships, groaning under the weight of their exotic cargoes. Sometimes he thought he could catch the faintest undercurrent of salt, like the taste of ocean air, and he would think of sunlight glowing and rippling over underwater gardens, the shifting of seaweed among dappled light. The living, breathing world of reefs, not the darkness of the depths. He would smile then, and raise his glass to Fjords memory, before taking another sip.

Jester surprised him. He'd expected sweetness from the flowers that grew over her, something energetic and exciting. But it was almost...restrained. A hint of sweetness to it, tasty but somewhat...quiet. Until he'd sat back one evening with a steaming cup and a pastry, and was delighted as the sweetness of the pastry mingled with the tea and became something sublime, not overpowering it but enhancing it. The perfect tea to go with cookies. He'd laughed then, even as the tears ran down his face. How like her, for her final legacy to revolve around pastries, an echo of her greatest trick.

(He still wept for them all, even so long after. Gentle moments of mourning as tears dripped onto his lap and into his tea, loud ugly shouts and sobs, on his knees and howling out emotions too great even for his giant-kin frame, and all moments in between. There was no shame in this. Every healer knew the value of salt water for washing wounds clean.)

Beau was _strong_. A kick to it that left him coughing slightly in shock. He'd felt so alert afterwards, energized and ready. He could almost picture her, that crooked grin and tightly wound frame, could imagine the hard punch to the arm that was her way of greeting as she made some coarse and ribald joke. A good tea for digging days, when graves needed making, taking swigs of tea in between shovel loads, Beau's strength making a tiring job that much easier.

Caleb was hot, almost peppery. His eyes had watered slightly, at the first mouthful. But when the burn faded there was only a warmth at the back of his throat, steady and soothing. He could remember cold winter days on the road, Caleb starting the fire with a flick of his hands, beating back the bitter cold with but a wave, as the flickering shadows danced in his auburn hair until Caleb himself seemed to glow from within.

A good tea for winter days, watching the grove sleep peacefully under white blankets. He'd always liked winter. 

Veth's tea held a story in every sip, a bitter taste that gently faded into a soft sweetness, fragments of a story of growth and change, shedding her past and finding her way back home. Her and Yeza had asked for a shared plot, and there were days when her husband made his presence felt. Not greatly. He'd been a quiet man, from what Caduceus remembered, but he was there, a supporting framework for his wifes stronger presence. A hint of whiskey sometimes, too, and he'd flatten his ears and wrinkle his nose, but drink it down to the dregs anyway, toasting the memory of Nott the Brave.

Yasha was bracing, earthy and powerful. A tea to drink carefully, from small glasses. He made it when he fell ill, when colds and sniffles snuck their way in during the cooler months and he felt he needed extra strength. He could almost imagine her at his bedside, smiling that rare, barely there smile.

"Sleep, Caduceus. I'll watch over you."

A tea to leave him feeling safe and protected. He would sleep well those nights. Illnesses never seemed to hang around as long.

(He'd transplanted some of Molly, last time he passed that way, a riot of blooming vines and flowers. His tea was almost extravagantly floral, notes of flavour mingling in ways that should have been nauseating, but worked somehow. He smiled into his cup, and thought, not for the first time, how much he would have liked to meet the man.)

They were good teas, all of them, and he made them often, not only for him. For his family, now often passing through, his house barely ever empty. For mourners, grieving their loss and seeking comfort in gentle conversation and hot tea. For visitors, curious travelers seeking a place to rest, welcomed always with open arms and hot tea. The Nein had loved to see new places, to travel, to meet new people. How selfish of him, to keep them to himself.

He made sure to buy plenty of teacups this time.


End file.
